


The Mating Game

by fredesrojo



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post S2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredesrojo/pseuds/fredesrojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein bets about sex are made and both parties generally end up satisfied, or, Will Loses A Bet But Gets A Happy Ending Anyways</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mating Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplyprologue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyprologue/gifts).



> For Emily, because...I don't even know.
> 
> Inspired mostly by Beyonce's "Blow"
> 
> (Alternate Suggested Titles: Will McAvoy-Viper Jock Sex God and/or What Goes Around Comes [Around])

What they don't realize is that he has just as big an oral fixation as Mac does, when it all comes down to it.

Smoking, chewing on pen tips (more so in his younger years than now), licking his lips--and if there's one thing Will McAvoy has always liked to do, it's use his mouth.

He nuzzles gently against the inside of Mac's thigh as she recovers from the latest in a string of mind-blowing (if he says so himself, which male pride generally dictates that he does) orgasms, mumbled words tumbling past her lips in an incoherent stream in between stuttering gasps for air.

Call him a Neanderthal, but Will loves making her come, watching the sated haze gloss over her eyes, the brilliant pink flush spread across her skin. (It helps, a little, with the mild feeling of inadequacy he gets in the back of his mind whenever his knee creaks a little more loudly than usual getting up, that he can still get Mac off this way. He's not as young as he used to be.)

Will smirks, turning his head to rub the side of his jaw against the sensitive skin on the inside of her leg, delighting in the whimper it draws from her lips.

God, he loves her.

Mac shifts restlessly under his hands, muscles twitching and flexing against his fingertips.

He lifts his head and rests his chin against the rise of her hipbone, grinning. "You give in?"

She tries once, twice to lift her head enough to glare at him, finally succeeding on the third try, although the glare definitely loses impact under the sated glaze to her eyes. "You...I...no."

(He loves when her voice gets like this, almost hoarse with the force of her desire and dropped an octave or so in pitch, loves it almost as much as her voice in his ear during broadcasts. It's a point of pride that he can reduce her to this, to incoherent words and moans, that he can still please her.)  
  
“That’s three.” He traces his fingers up and down the rise of her leg, infinitely patient.

“You think you can hold off for two more?” Mac manages, still struggling to regulate her breathing.

“Wasn’t about me,” He grazes his teeth along the edge of her hip and then kisses the mark, shifting to rest his chin on top of her waist again. “Bet was I couldn’t make you come once for every broadcast we do in a week.”

(To be honest, of the two of them he definitely has the longer refractory period, so any situation where he can get Mac to come more than once is only going to be more enjoyable for the both of them.

...That, and they’re both stubborn. Or determined.)

Once her breath is mostly even again, and she’s starting to shift under his hold in a way he knows means she’s recovered enough--she wasn’t exactly wrong in insinuating that he’s going to have trouble holding off until he makes her come two more times--he shifts back between her legs, grinning at the quiet moan of approval.

He pins one leg high and wide to make more room for his shoulders, lightly traces his fingers and then his tongue up the inside of her thigh.

“Tease.”

“You like it.”

When she tries to shift closer he clamps an arm low across her abdomen, holds her hips to the bed while he sucks a fierce mark into the skin of her thigh. Her hand tangles in his hair when he finally bends to put fingers and tongue against her folds, easing a finger in first while he traces around her clit with his tongue.

Mac almost sobs when he grazes her with his teeth, her fingers clenching painfully and then relaxing.

(Now he’s really not sure he’s going to last, not with her moaning like this and writhing against the sheets, but his stubborn pride insists because they made a bet and he’s not going to lose.

Fuck, he needs to get her off.)

Will curls two fingers inside and reapplies his mouth against her clit, holding strong when her hips buck against the mattress--he’s playing quick and dirty now, has to get her off once more before he can fuck her, and he applies every bit of his not inconsequential knowledge of MacKenzie McHale to bring her closer and closer.

Her fingers pull painfully at his hair and he looks up, meeting her gaze across the expanse of her body. In the instant before her head falls back against the pillows he hums against her and presses a third finger up to join the other two, drawing her through to a screaming climax, hips torquing under his grip.

His face is wet with her as he scrambles up her body, half-dragged by the hand in his hair, and Mac moans brokenly into their kiss when he finally draws his hand away.

“Good?” Will mumbles, grinning a little when she swats at his side ineffectually.

“...Smug.”

(Yeah he is, a little.)

“Well I did just--” He laughs, pulled back to her lips by a clumsy hand.

“Shut it.”

Mac gets a bit of her own back by shifting her free leg enough to brush up against his dick, and yeah, he wants her but he’s not enough of a jackass to expect her to be ready after coming four times basically in a row.

“Dirty pool.”

“I’m not the one with something to prove,” and he has to shift or risk coming all over the place himself while she smirks despite the flush still riding high in her cheeks. “I’m seeing a lot of talk and no action.”

(She’s goading him and he should know better to respond, but Will has never been particularly smart in any situation involving MacKenzie flushed and naked under his body.)

“Tease.” He shifts up on his forearms, and some of the lingering concern must bleed through his gaze because Mac just rolls her eyes and lifts her legs to cradle his hips.

It takes a few strokes to find a rhythm, but she matches his movements easily enough.

(Even after six years apart, they always work well together.

Fuck, he’s definitely not going to last.)

Will braces on one arm long enough to make sure her leg is secure around his waist, hips starting to stutter into a terminal rhythm even though he’s trying to hold out long enough to-- “Dammit.”

Mac laughs, hands tracing up and down his back, the pads of her fingertips and then the teasing scratch of her fingernails. “Not going to make it to five.”

(Baseball statistics, Republican presidents listed by term, nothing works, he’s not going to be able to get her off and while a tiny part of him is disappointed, he made her come four times in a row.)

He holds on for a few more thrusts, half smothering his groan in the crook of her neck, and Mac laughs again when he finally collapses against her gasping for air. “...Shit.”

“You’re fine,” She traps him before he can get very far away, compromises for the weight of his body skewed just off to one side.

“I--you--”

Mac grins, smug, out of the corner of his eye. “Now you sound like I did.”

(He has to kiss her in retaliation for that, because it was her goading that started the whole damn thing, and he still thinks he acquitted himself quite admirably.)

Will sighs, forehead sticking to the tacky sweat drying on the skin of her shoulder, closes his eyes for just a minute--four times, and he’d almost gotten her to the fifth.

There’s four slim fingers wiggling just in front of his nose when he manages to crack his eyes open again.

“I got--you...four times,” He grumbles, half disgruntled about it but mostly resigned--she’s going to be insufferable.

“It’s not a stain on your sex god prowess, you know.” Mac shoves him until he flops over on his back and drapes her body across his, chin propped up on her forearms.

“Hmph.” It’s harder now to keep his eyes open and they’re more on top of the sheets than under them, but for right now he’s content to doze off with a thoroughly satisfied MacKenzie draped over his chest.

(Wait.)

“Sex god?”

“You dispute your own title?”

“What--”

Mac smirks. “What with your Netflix queue of digitally enhanced breasts, you’ve got the tabloids convinced you must be some sort of Midwestern sex deity--it’s quite flattering, really. I’m apparently marrying quite the cunning linguist.”

(It takes a second to click, and then--)

“That was terrible,” Will groans.

“I know, I’m really proud. I was saving that.”

He sighs, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. “So when can I expect you to collect on the terms of our bet?”

She grins slyly, and now he’s starting to regret this decision a little. “Oh, I think I’ll save it, for when it’s most useful.”

“Giving yourself carte blanche, then?”

“Yep.”

He sighs again, settling them both more comfortably against the bed. “So basically you own me for the foreseeable future.”

“I own you forever,” Mac hums, stretching atop his body. “Physical law of the universe, or something.”

“No matter what,” Will agrees as they slowly drift to sleep.

(Not that he’s particularly opposed to owing Mac a yet-to-be determined favor.

She does own him.

Physical law of the universe indeed.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I would apologize for the terrible puns in the title/summary/story but I'd mostly be lying.


End file.
